


Grocery Store Guy

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Dom/sub, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 03:38:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4332384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(A work I won't finish but am posting for organizational purposes.)</p>
<p>Dean meets a very attractive stranger in the grocery store, goes home to Sam to tell him about it, and then runs into the stranger yet again. He gets a name, that second time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grocery Store Guy

**Author's Note:**

> I've left SPN, and this will never get finished. But I made it to ~8k, so I feel like I should post it.

Dean scowls as he looks at the eggs, the grocery store bustling about behind him. They have the usual eggs in different cartons, large eggs, "local" eggs, and certified organic. No Animal Welfare. Dean groans. He doesn't want to go to the farmer's market for fucking _eggs._ Fuck Kevin; he's dating this girl who's an absolute monster about where her food comes from. For Dean's sake, he hopes she either fucking just goes vegan or Kevin dumps her ass. _Animal Welfare eggs._

As Dean cuts his losses and acknowledges he's going to have waste gas to get the damn fancy eggs, he bumps into someone. He stumbles trying to not fall onto them. Large hands come to rest on his arms, and they help Dean steady himself. Dean feels that it's totally unnecessary – he wasn't even stumbling that much – but when he looks at the stranger's face, his quip dies in his throat. The man's gorgeous. He's got sex hair Dean wants to grab, and his eyes are some of the bluest Dean has seen. They crinkle in worry as the man asks if Dean's alright. 

"Yeah. Peachy keen." Dean winces as soon as the words leave his mouth. 

The man smiles. "I'm glad. I'm sorry for colliding with you. I wasn't paying attention."

"Nah, man, it's cool. Part my fault, too."

"In that case, I believe we're square."

"Yep." Dean smiles back at the man. He wants to ask him out, but they're in a grocery store. Even Dean has more class than that; he refuses to be that sleazy.

"Could I ask if you happen to know where the cake mixes are? I know you need eggs with it, but I haven't the slightest clue where the actual cakes are."

Dean laughs, and when the man's face falls Dean frantically tries to wave his hands in a 'not you' manner. "Not laughing because you can't find the cake mix. Just, wasn't expecting it, you know?"

"I suppose."

"Here, I do indeed know where the cake mixes are. They're over in aisle seven, the one by all the food displays. In the middle of the aisle, can't see 'em just glancing."

Blue Eyes nods gratefully. "Thank you. I would've disappointed my sister greatly if I didn't have her cake."

"Can't have that, can we?"

It gets Dean a laugh. "No, we can't. Thank you. I mean it."

"Yeah, yeah. It's just directions."

"Important directions. No disappointed siblings today. I'm going to go," he gestures in the vague direction of where aisle seven is. "Have to actually make the cake."

Dean hastily nods. "I got you. Go forth and impress your sister with your instant cake skills."

"So long as there's cake, it doesn't matter how it was made, does it? Goodbye."

Dean waves as the man gives him one last look at his smile before he turns to wander down the store. He brings a hand to his face to rub circles into his temple. The man was so hot, and his _voice._  Dean's proud of himself for not whimpering when Blue Eyes first opened his mouth. His voice was deep, raspy and amused as he continued talking. Heat bursts across Dean's face as he thinks of what his voice would sound like in other situations. Quickly, Dean hauls himself out of the store; it wouldn't do to pop a boner there.

The house is mostly quiet when Dean makes it back. It sounds like the coffee's on, and Dean sees Sam sprawled on the couch in the living room. He tosses his jacket onto the stand by the door and tugs off his boots before walking towards his brother. The book Sam's reading get plucked out of his hands, and Dean ignores his protest. Instead, he straddles his brother and grabs at his hair. Sam raises an eyebrow. 

"I'm pretty sure eggs shouldn't have gotten you hot."

"Shut up. Saw someone."

"Uh huh. What was it about them?"

Dean grinds down. "Fuck. His hair and his eyes. And his _voice."_ He pulls at Sam's hair. "Bumped into him looking for Kevin's eggs – which they don't have by the way."

Sam grabs Dean's hips as he hums an acknowledgement. He pulls Dean forward hard, causing his brother to moan. "What do you want to do to him? Fuck him? Get him to suck you off? I bet his hair'd look real nice in your fist."

"Fuck."

Dean's manhandled into a laying position on the couch, Sam hovering over him. Sam bends his neck so he can suck at Dean's jaw. Sucks turn into bites. Dean groans and fists a hand into his brother's shirt. The other one goes down to unbutton and unzip his jeans. As soon as he does, he pulls himself out. Sam tugs on his ear with his teeth. 

"What color was his hair? His eyes?"

Dean fucks up into his hand before he answers. "Dark brown, almost like black. Sam. Fuck. Tousled like he'd fucking just had a wild night. And his eyes were super blue."

"Yeah?"

Sam gets a nod before Dean pulls on his shirt, trying to get Sam to go back to touching him. He lets out a frustrated noise when Sam simply goes back to biting at his ear. 

"Come on, Sammy. I'm dying."

"You're not gonna die without my hands on your dick."

"My ear is the least interesting thing. Move."

"I like your ears, Dean."

"I could've just jacked it in the car."

"You could've. But here you are." The words are accompanied by a bite.

"You're an asshole."

"Yep. But you love me."

"Uh huh. Come on. Give me what I want."

Sam blows breath into Dean's face. "And what is it you want, Dean?"

"Wanna fuck you, wipe the smug look off your face."

"Mhm. Gonna show me what you would've done to Grocery Store Guy?"

Dean snorts. "Is that what we're calling him?"

"It's better than Sex Hair or Blue Eyes."

"Those are much more flattering, not gonna lie."

Sam rolls his eyes. "Whatever. You wanna fuck me?" He waits until Dean nods. "Then we're calling him Grocery Store Guy."

"You're such a little brother, Jesus Christ."

"Yep." Sam pushes himself up into a sitting position. "But I'm the little brother you're fucking, so. What does that say about you?"

Dean grumbles while he gets up as well, not giving Sam an actual answer. He pulls Sam to his feet and drags him to their bedroom. The lube they keep in the living room is almost out, not enough to prep Sam. He never remembers to buy more, and Sam never gets it because he never buys the kind Dean likes; when Sam goes shopping without Dean, it's usually after a long day where he's fighting to stay awake. He's bought many things they didn't need or things they needed in the wrong quantity. Dean's taken him off grocery duty until he reduces his hours.

Sam's pushed onto the bed, and Dean goes to his nightstand to get the lube. It gets tossed at Sam. The tube hits him the chest, and Dean sighs.

"Your reflexes could use some work, Sam."

"Or you could simply not throw things at me when I'm not expecting them."

"But where's the fun in that?"

Dean sees Sam roll his eyes as he climbs onto the bed. He takes the lube from Sam, who pulls his legs up towards his shoulders. His hands come to help them stay. Dean whistles as he appreciates the view. He'd loudly made fun of Sam when he starting doing yoga in addition to his usual workouts, but he's stopped as his brother's increased flexibility showed itself in the bedroom. The more exciting positions they've managed to get Sam in are to die for. 

Sam hisses as Dean presses a finger to his rim; the lube is cold. Dean presses a hand to Sam's thigh, rubs his thumb to soothe him. He works his finger in completely before trying for a second and then a third. Little hitches in Sam's breathing become more frequent as Dean starts actually rubbing his fingers against Sam’s prostate.

When Dean pulls all of his fingers out, Sam tries to follow. He doesn't get very far, the distance he can push his ass back limited. Dean keeps rubbing at Sam's thigh as he lubes himself up. As he shuffles closer, Sam lets one of his legs go to grab at Dean and pull. 

"I know what you're planning, and don't."

"You know I won't tease you too long, Sammy."

"Fuck me  _now_."

Dean clucks. "You're not giving me orders today. But if you ask me nicely I’ll give you what you want."

“Please don’t tease me.”  


“Nicer, Sammy.”  


A roll of the eyes. “ _Please_  don’t tease me, Dean.”

“I should just do what I want because of that eye roll.”  


“Please just shut up and fuck me before I do it myself.”  


Dean slaps Sam’s thigh. “ _Fine._ I hate that goddamn vibrator.”

Sam hums as he pushes his head into the pillow and places his hand back around his leg. Dean grabs himself and lines up. He fucks into Sam quickly, and his brother's teeth bite into his lip hard. Sam's stomach does the little tremble it does when he's trying not to whine. Dean scrapes at Sam's chest before pulling out; the whine comes out, but now it's from loss of sensation instead of because of it. With a smirk, Dean pulls Sam back onto his cock. Sam's sharp intake of breath makes Dean jerk forward instinctually. 

"Fuck."

"You're always," a gasp, "so articulate, Dean."

Dean swats Sam. "You know it."

Sam releases his legs to instead drop them on Dean's shoulders. He then moves his hands to play with his nipples. As he twists them between his fingers, Dean bends. Their hips don't have much mobility like this, but Dean can kiss Sam now. It's sloppy, more mouthing at each other than actual kissing; Sam's breathing hard, one hand tweaking a nipple and the other now wedged between them on his cock. Dean brings a hand into Sam's hair to pull it.

Slowly, Sam groans. His hand speeds up, and Dean makes sure to pull extra hard on his hair. Dean picks up the pace of his hips as much as he's able to help Sam get over the edge faster. Little gasps of noise echo. The sheets tangle in Sam's hand when it moves away from his nipple. With a whine, he comes.

Dean slows after that, running his hand through his brother's hair as he comes down. Sam lets him keep fucking, and Dean presses his forehead to Sam's. He always lasts longer. With an amused huff – he doesn't say anything; the stamina jokes have gotten too stale for Sam – Dean shuts his eyes. He concentrates on just fucking into his little brother. It's with a gasp and Sam's hands finally on him that Dean orgasms. 

When he rolls over, Sam groans. Neither of them brought in a washcloth and bowl so Sam could clean himself off in bed. Dean hesitates for only a second before pulling himself up.

"I'll get your shit."

Sam gives him a grateful smile, and Dean waves his hand. Always gotta take care of him.

\-------

The farmers market was annoying as usual, but Dean was triumphant in finding the damn eggs. Sam couldn’t come with him to help navigate; he’s at work, hopefully making people cry. Dean rolls his shoulders as that thought crosses his mind. The case his brother’s working on sucks. Sam’s been drained, and it’s only been a few days he’s been on it. It really isn’t a far stretch that Sam’s made someone lower on the food chain in the office break down. He’s a laser focused monster right now. Dean’s happy he doesn’t see Sam until he’s completely exhausted to be honest. 

Dean starts the Impala, and he drives himself home, thinking. He should do something nice for Sam. Help him relax a bit. There’s still another two work days in the week, and on Saturday Kevin and his girlfriend are coming over. As much as they love Kevin, neither of them enjoy the presence of Stacy. Dean chews his lip as he waits for a light to turn green. Does he do something for Sam after work, or wait until after Kevin leaves Saturday? Both have their benefits, and Dean doesn’t know what type of relief his brother needs. It’s never been his strong suit, figuring this kind of thing out. 

The whole drive home Dean weighs his options. As he pulls his keys out of the ignition, he decides that he might as well try for tonight; if Sam’s as burnt out as he’s been, it’ll be a nice recharge, maybe. And if Sam isn’t in the mood, Dean tried. He can offer again Saturday where Sam can actually play around, get elaborate with things. 

The hall light gets flicked on as Dean steps into the house. They’ve been leaving all their blinds closed lately to stave off some of the summer heat, and the house gets surprisingly dark. Dean makes his way into the kitchen and opens the fridge, placing the eggs on the top shelf next to the salad shit Sam eats. He pulls out some cheese and snags some of Sam’s tomatoes. Lasagna sounds like a good coming home to meal. Better than burgers like Dean was originally planning, anyway. 

Dean loses himself as he prepares the layers. Lasagna is something he could make in his sleep. He doesn’t have the spices he usually likes to put in the sauce today, and he doesn’t want to go out again. Hopefully Sam doesn’t even notice that the sauce is lacking it’s usual pizazz or he likes it if he does. With a worried furrow on his brow, Dean tests the sauce. It tastes good, but it’s definitely not his best. He decides to put more vegetables in for more flavor. It’ll be different, but Sam goes nuts over vegetables. 

By the time Dean gets the lasagna in the oven, he’s worked himself up about tonight. He always get nervous when he decides to do anything like this; he’s not really a sub, and he’s definitely not good at it regardless of what Sam says. More often than not, he thinks he’s making an idiot of himself. But Sam kind of melts when Dean does let his brother dominate him, and Sam always makes it worth Dean’s while. 

Dean decides to clean the living room to work off some of his nerves. The floor hasn’t been vacuumed in a while, and he can’t remember the last time either him or Sam dusted. He pushes all the furniture out of the way so he can first get all the crap that’s fallen under them. Quite a few quarters and crumpled ones litter the space where the couch sits. Someone’s jeans need to be repaired; it looks like a pocket’s worth of money. Dean makes a mental note to look through their wardrobe after he finishes. The vacuuming goes by quickly, and moving the furniture back into place goes smoothly. He can’t move the couch as efficiently as Sam, but he gets it done. Dusting takes him an even shorter amount of time; though they don’t do it often, they use all their furniture. Not a lot of surface is left alone enough to manage to collect much dust. 

The rags he used get thrown into the laundry room, and he digs out all their dirty jeans to look at the pockets. It’s a pair of Sam’s that have a fat hole right on the bottom of the pocket. Dean rolls his eyes; of course Sam wouldn’t bother to notice. He walks to the bedroom to deposit the jeans on Sam’s chair; Sam can fix his pants whenever, so long as he doesn’t wear them until then. If the hole gets much bigger, Sam’s fucked if he accidentally puts his phone or wallet there.

Dean heads back downstairs to start fixing a salad just in case Sam doesn’t want lasagna. The oven says there’s only about thirty minutes left, so Dean takes his time. He whistles as he cuts more vegetables. The salad gets tossed before Dean places a lid on the bowl to stick it in the fridge. He also reorganizes some of Sam’s juices to make room for the lasagna dish before he closes the door. The counter top get a wipe down, and Dean washes everything he used today. When the oven beeps, Dean grabs an oven mitt. He places the lasagna onto the counter to cool before grabbing his phone out of his pocket. There are hours still to kill before the thought of coming home even crosses Sam’s mind.

-

When Dean hears the front door open, he gets up from where he was watching Netflix on the couch. Sam looks annoyed, and Dean tentatively tries to help Sam out of his suit jacket. He’s allowed. Dean steps behind Sam and pulls while Sam draws his arms; the result is a freed Sam and Dean holding the jacket. While Dean hangs the jacket on the rack he himself never bothers with, Sam examines his brother. 

“Dean.”

“Yes?”

“I’m not in the mood to have sex with you.”

“Not what I’m after.” Dean feels his face turn red. “I…uh…wanted to help you relax.”

Sam raises an eyebrow as he pulls Dean in by his shirt. “And what does relaxing me entail?”

“I made dinner.”

“You always make me dinner.”

“Not when you’re on cases, I don’t. You’re never home to eat anything.”

“So you made me dinner tonight?”

Dean nods, and Sam drags his hand up Dean’s chest.

“What else are you going to do for me tonight?”

“Whatever you want." 

"Dean.”

“Shit. Uh, you really like the thought of being served. So. Yeah. Things like that.”

Sam brings his hand to cup Dean’s jaw. “How far can I make you go?”

“Don’t wanna be your table or footrest. Don’t ignore me.”

“I can do that. Go get me my lasagna. You can serve yourself some, too.”

Dean nods before walking into the kitchen. He can hear Sam moving about in the living room, the sounds of him decompressing a familiar lull. The lasagna is cold from having sat in the fridge for about an hour. Dean puts his plate into the microwave; if he doesn’t have to, he won’t eat food cold. Sam, on the other hand, prefers it. 

In the living room, Sam’s pulled his tie off and turned the TV on. The sound is at a minimal volume, only loud enough to be background noise at the moment. Dean hands Sam his plate, and he folds to his knees beside his brother’s legs. Sam runs a hand quickly through Dean’s hair.

“Thank you, Dean.”

He nods. Sam gestures that he can eat before digging in himself. Dean watches Sam tear apart his lasagna for a bit before bringing his fork to his lips. It tastes heavily of squash for lasagna. He chews his bite slowly; he was hoping the garlic would overpower the squash or that it would just taste of cheese. Definitely not his best improv meal. 

Sam nudges him when he doesn’t take another forkful fast enough. “Want you done when I finish.”

“I put too much squash in it.”

“It tastes fine, Dean. Eat.”

Dean swallows another mouthful, and he keeps putting more between his lips. By the time he’s finished, Sam has two more bites left. His brother takes his time eating them; he chews like he’s savoring it, which doesn’t make sense. There’s more lasagna in the fridge, and it’s probably all for Sam. It’s Sam’s prerogative tonight to do what he wants, however, so Dean holds his tongue. He’s just here to do what Sam says.

When Sam finishes, he holds out his plate for Dean. Dean takes it without a word and walks back into the kitchen to rinse them off. The leftover sauce drips into the sink, and the sound of the disposal grates while the bigger chunks of vegetable are destroyed. Soap gets sprayed onto the plates before Dean scrubs them down. He rinses them, and he places them onto the dish rack. On soft feet, he trails back to Sam.

His brother gesture for Dean to stand in front of him. Dean obeys, blocking his view of the TV. 

“My feet are killing me. Massage them.”

Though the way Sam says it is harsh, Dean can pick up the question in it. It’s in the way Sam’s eyes flicker across his face, looking for discomfort. Dean lowers himself onto the floor and pulls Sam’s left foot onto his lap.

“Yes, Sam.”

Dean’s only given one foot massage in his life. If Sam’s hoping for something spectacular, he’s gonna be disappointed. Nevertheless, Dean tries. Sam’s sock is pulled off, and Dean runs his fingers over the top of his brother’s foot before picking it up. He pushes his thumbs to the balls of Sam’s feet to actually start. Circles his fingers and applies lots of pressure. He wiggles Sam’s toes, gets Sam to crack them. Dean caresses the calluses on his brother’s heel. From there, he presses and rolls his hand against it. The middle of Sam’s feet are ticklish, and Dean does his best to not produce laughter when he rubs his fingers there. Dean works up and down Sam’s foot multiple times before shifting to pull Sam’s other one into his lap. 

He repeats everything he did before. Sam’s relaxed above him, hands on his thighs. His eyes are closed. Dean smiles at him, even though Sam can’t see it. Sam looks much better than when he walked into the house. Still tired, but not tense. Dean bends down to kiss Sam’s ankle. It gets him a twitch.

“Think you should suck on my toes.”

“You’ve been in your shoes all day?”

Sam brings a hand to Dean’s hair. “Yeah. Besides sweat, my feet are clean.”

Dean nods, and Sam runs his fingers down to reach Dean’s ear. He doesn’t push, lets Dean get to it on his own. When Dean draws a big toe into his mouth, Sam’s fingers tighten.

“Fuck.”

Dean smiles around the toe before sucking. He doesn’t try anything else, though. Sam said he wasn’t in the mood for sex. The toe rests in his mouth, his hand around his brother’s ankle. The fingers in his hair pet him, and Dean whines when Sam’s nails join the picture. Sam hushes him. Dean pouts, but he does as he’s told. He just continues suckling on Sam’s toe. 

Dean loses track of time; his eyes droop closed, and if he just focuses on Sam’s fingers he doesn’t notice the ache in his jaw or how he’d really like to stretch. It’s none of the type of irritation Sam said he had to inform him about, and it’s not like Dean hasn’t dealt with being hunched over for long periods of time. He breathes deeply through his nose. Sam’s fingers feel really nice. Really nice.

When Sam pulls him up, Dean’s tempted to whine. He doesn’t. It gets him a smile; Sam can read his noise faces like magic. Dean’s head is cradled between Sam’s hands. 

“So good to me, Dean. Didn’t think you’d do it.”

Dean grunts. He wouldn’t have if it’d been a day Sam walked around his office barefoot. 

Sam doesn’t comment even though Dean knows Sam’s aware of what he’s thinking. “Go draw a bath.”

That gets a questioning noise; Sam never takes bathes, and he always washes himself in the morning.

“It’s for you, Dean.” Sam tsks when Dean tries to open his mouth. “I’m ready for bed, and I want you to have a bath. Go start it.”

Dean doesn’t hesitate. Arguing that Sam’s going above and beyond right now will just make Sam irritated with him. That’s the opposite of what Dean’s been trying to accomplish tonight. As he watches the water fill their bathtub, Dean replays the scene over. It wasn’t what he expected Sam to ask of him. He didn’t really do anything, actually. Sam’d seemed worried about pushing him before, but tonight was really tame. Unexpected, but tame. 

Shutting off the water, Dean lifts himself away from the side of the tub. He retrieves Sam, who places his hand on the small of Dean’s back while they walk back upstairs. His hand presses against Dean, steadying but not possessive. The possessive nature of the whole dominance and submission dynamic is the biggest reason Dean refuses to do this full time. He’s fought hard to recognize himself as his own person outside of his father or Sam. He is Dean, never _Sam’s._

When they reach the bathroom, Sam motions for Dean to strip and get into the tub. Clothes hit the tiles as Dean undresses. Sam helps him into the tub despite the fact Dean’s over thirty and easily capable. His hands guide Dean until he’s lying against the back of the tub, completely submerged from the neck down. Satisfied with Dean, Sam grabs soap. What he does with it is more like a massage than a rub down to get clean. Dean moans. Sam just continues working his hands. 

As he brings his fingers up to Dean’s neck, he asks how Dean feels.

“Boneless, dude. Sleepy.”

“Almost done, Dean.”

Dean nods, Sam’s fingers tickling as he does it. Sam looks ready to fall asleep as well, but he shakes his head when Dean opens his mouth.

“You’d have been sore tomorrow if we didn’t ease up your back. You take care of me, and I take care of you.”

“Shouldn’t have had me stay bent over so long, then. You’re tired.”

“I was enjoying myself. Taking care of you after always gives me satisfaction. I’ll fall asleep as soon as I hit the pillow. Thank you for tonight, Dean.”

Dean shrugs. “It’s the least I could do.”

“You don’t have to do this for me, and yet you do. I have to thank you.”

Dean shrugs again, and Sam lets the conversation drop. He finishes rubbing the soap into Dean’s neck. A towel is grabbed, and Dean climbs out of the tub after taking out the drain plug. Sam pats at Dean’s neck and scrubs the rest of Dean dry. He walks Dean to their bedroom. They don’t bother putting Dean in clothes, just wrap him in blankets. Sam turns off the light, and true to his word he’s out. Dean snorts before rolling over. 

\-------  


In the morning, Dean groans as he wakes up. Sam’s swaddled him in blankets, and he feels like he’s on fire. With a grunt, Dean untangles himself. It takes much longer than it should. Finished, Dean cracks his neck and shrugs his shoulders. The cool air of the bedroom feels like heaven right now. 

A glance at the clock shows it’s around 5:30. Sam’s off for an early day, then, the workaholic. Dean shakes his head at his brother. Whatever recharge Dean meant to happen last night was supposed to help him get through the week, not allow him to cram in more hours. Sighing, Dean gets up. It’s good Sam’s so eager to help his clients, but he needs to take better care of himself. That’s an argument that they fight over too often, though, and neither of them give in. 

The morning passes by easily enough for Dean; he showers and makes himself presentable before making himself an omelette and toast for breakfast. From there, he heads to work. He’s been off for most of the week due to Tina; she’d been sick of him not being satisfied with any of his designs. Dean knows it’s irritating, but they weren’t good enough to show. With a roll of his shoulders, Dean turns the ignition off. Benny’s sure to give him a play by play of what he’s missed this week. Dean steps out of the Impala and heads into the building. He has designs to catch up on. 

-

A takeout carton in placed next to his elbow. Quickly glancing at his computer, Dean sees it’s almost one. The person next to him laughs. It’s a rumbling sound, and Dean flicks his eraser at Benny. 

“Lose track of time, brotha?”

“Shut up. I’ve missed out all this week.”

“You didn’t miss nothing.” Benny clears off some of Dean’s desk space so he can sit. “The designs aren’t making it to the cutting block for a while. You’ve got time.”

Dean shrugs. “Like to have a couple solid ones, you know?”

“Yeah, yeah. How were your days off?” He opens his carton. The smell of whatever is in it is definitely not the smell of Chinese takeout.

“Benny. What are in the cartons?”

“I didn’t have anymore tupperware. Andrea’s using ‘em all. It’s dinner from last night.”

Dean opens his lunch. It’s one of Benny’s pasta dishes. A moan slips out, and Benny snorts. Dean’s love of his cooking is always amusing. 

“You want some one-on-one time?”

“I don’t mind putting on a show. You can stay and watch.”

Benny rolls his eyes. “Not in a million years, brotha.”

“Whatever. Your loss.” Dean stuffs a forkful of pasta into his mouth and chews. “My time off was good.”

“Netflix and porn all day?”

Dean chokes on his mouthful trying to laugh. He waves away Benny’s helping hand. “Know me so well.”

“I’d better. Hanging out with your ass since college.”

“And what a lovely ass to have around.”

“I ain’t your boyfriend. I’m not that appreciative of it.”

“So you always say, but I’ve caught you looking.”

Benny chucks a noodle at him. “You only talk about it all the time. Had to check.”

“And?”

“Sam’s a lucky son of a bitch. How is he, by the way?”

“Working, working, working. He took on a sucky case.”

“Mhm. He overworking himself?”

“On the way there.” Dean shrugs his shoulders. “He went in early today.”

“Uh oh. That sounds annoyed.”

“It is. But it’s Sam. Always gotta put in two hundred and ten percent.”

Benny nods in agreement. “Well, you’ll pick him up when he crashes. You always do.”

Dean snorts and picks at his pasta. The conversation lulls as the two of them eat. 

“So, how’s Andrea?”

“Doin’ good, doin’ good. She stuck it to her boss on Tuesday. He was tryin’ to get more hours out of her for no overtime, and she wasn’t having it. Went off on him.” Benny beams, big and proud. “Wish I’d'a been there to see it.”

Dean smiles. “Same.”

“Now she’s looking to go to school. Couldn’t do it the first time around.”

“What’s she looking to study?”

“Nursing, the ambitious woman she is. She’ll never sleep again.”

“Oh man. That’s so much studying. Tell her I said good luck.”

Benny nods. “Will do, Dean. I should probably let you get back to work, so as you don’t obsess later about how much time you lost.”

“I don’t do that about lunch breaks!”

Benny gives him a skeptical look before pushing himself up. “If you wanna keep telling yourself that.”

Dean stills his tongue out. Benny rolls his eyes and starts walking away. He gives a wave over his shoulder as he turns out of Dean’s view. Dean grumbles as he spears the last bits of pasta onto his fork. He doesn’t obsess. 

-

So, maybe he does obsess a little bit. It’s about an hour after when he’s supposed to be off, and he’s just leaving the office. But it’s not because of the time lost during lunch; it’s because he hasn’t been in all week. That’s all. 

Shrugging his shoulders, Dean ignores the niggling Benny voice in his head. An extra hour is nothing; Sam puts in at least an extra three or five every day. So, Dean’s fine. 

He starts up the Impala, and he makes the decision to actually buy more lube for the living room. It’s ridiculous how long he’s put off buying some. Dean hums along with his cassette as he drives to the store; he can pick up some hair ties and get peanut M&M’s as well. Maybe he should get some more underwear, too. His everyday ones are looking kind of ratty, stretched in the leg holes because his weight has fluctuated a bit more than normal in the last year.

Dean puffs out a breath as he makes his way from his car to the store entrance. Unless he’s mistaken, that flop of hair heading towards the shopping carts is dangerously familiar. Dean picks up a basket and tries to not be obvious trying to get a glimpse of a face. When the man turns, it’s unmistakably Grocery Store Guy. Even worse, he sees Dean, and he makes his way towards him.

“I’d ask if you’re stalking me, but seeing as we’ve only run into at the grocery store, I think the joke would fall flat.”

Dean’s confused. “What?”  


“I apologize. I’ve been told when I try, I can’t tell a joke unless the humor’s painfully dry. I also haven’t slept.”

“And shopping couldn’t wait?”

“No. I’m afraid my sisters ate all my food. I don’t have anything for breakfast. Besides a half eaten protein bar.”

Dean wants to laugh. “So, did the one enjoy your cake before she unleashed the rest of them onto your kitchen?”

“Yes. She didn’t even complain it was from a box.”

Dean snorts. “Happy to hear that. I’m Dean, by the way.”

“Castiel, though it’s often abbreviated to Cas. Would you like to shop with me? I enjoy talking with you, and I’m less likely to fall asleep as well.”

“Can’t have that, can we? It’d be my fault if someone stepped on you or something.”

Castiel smiles at him. “Yes, it would. My sister would beg me to sue you.”

“Is this the same sister that needed cake?”

“No, it’s my older sister, Anna. The cake was for Hael.”

Dean hums and starts walking, Castiel falling in step. “How many sisters do you have?”

“Five. There’s Anna, Hester, Rachael, and then my younger sisters Hannah and Hael.”

“Fun. Getting to the bathroom as kids must’ve sucked.”

“It was definitely irritating sharing a bathroom with five other people. Do you have siblings?” Castiel pulls a pack of juice boxes into his cart. 

Dean shrugs. “Nah. But I’ve known my husband since we were in diapers, so I get irritating younger kids.”

“How much older are you?”

“Four years.”

“Mm.”

The two of the walk down two more aisles without speaking. Castiel picks out two different breads, bagels, and some sandwich toppings. Dean grabs his M&M’s in the second aisle. 

“So you’re doing a big shop?” Dean asks.

Castiel nods. “I’d like to hit most of the aisles, if that’s okay.”

“Yeah, I’ve got an hour to spend. You should give me your bread, though. It was stupid to start on this side of the store if you’re buying a lot. Bread goes last, Cas. You’re gonna squish it.”

“You don’t know if I don’t enjoy my bread squished." 

"No one enjoys that. Gimme your damn bread, you idiot.”

Castiel rolls his eyes, but he reaches into his cart to give Dean his bread. “Yes, Mother.”

“Whatever. You should be thanking me. I’m like your grocery store fairy.”

“I suppose. How varied is this store’s contents? This is only my second time shopping here.”

“Well, that explains why you didn’t know where the cake was but apparently go through every aisle.”

Castiel raises an disapproving eyebrow. Dean simply smiles his blinding smile at him. It gets ignored as Castiel places cans into his cart. Beans, different beans, peas, corn, another kind of beans. As Castiel continues plucking cans, Dean lets his eyes roam over Castiel’s body. He definitely looks like he eats this healthy food as a habit instead of a diet. Castiel is all lean muscle. Dean swallows hard. They’re still in a fucking grocery store, dammit. 

When Castiel signals he’s done, Dean nods and tries to act like he’s not totally wanting to inappropriately imagine his new friend’s body doing sexual acts. Castiel, whether it’s because he’s tired or Dean’s good, doesn’t notice anything. He simply keeps walking down the aisle so they can go to the next one.

“So, Dean, what are else are you planning on buying? A basket seems unnecessary for just M&M’s.”

Dean coughs. Shit, half of his list isn’t something you buy in front of people you aren’t intimate with. “Uh.”

“Yes?” Castiel lifts an intrigued eyebrow. At Dean’s continued silence, he continues. “Dean, if you’re freaking out because you’re on a condom run, you can stop. You’re not going to insult my dignity or whatever.”

Dean runs a hand through his hair and swallows. “Uh, close. Lube. And underwear. And Sam needs hair ties." 

"Was that that hard or embarrassing? Is Sam your husband?”

“Sammy’s my guy, yep. He’s got long ass hair like you wouldn’t believe.”

“How long is it?”

Dean shrugs. “It’s a bit past his shoulders. He wants to grow it longer, but I find enough of his hair everywhere as it is. It’s annoying.”

“I suppose. I think I’ve grown immune to annoyance at hair everywhere.”

Dean huffs out a little laugh. “Five sisters, I bet. Who had to unplug the shower drain?”

“It was usually whoever’s hair was the one that was most obvious in the hair clump. Only Hannah and Hael have similar hair color.”

“Fun. I’ve had to fish Sam’s hair out of the damn drain more than I can count.”

“That sounds unpleasant. Maybe you should ask him to do it.”

Dean shrugs, and Castiel puts some crackers into his cart. “He’s usually already at work when I shower. He just never remembers to check the drain.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

“Yep. But what’s married life without annoyance at your partner sometimes?”

“I suppose it’s impossible to not get annoyed with someone you live with.”

“Uh huh, Mister Diplomat. I’m sure there were some nasty irritations with five siblings.”

Castiel closes his eyes. “Oh, yes. There were many. Especially as we entered our teenage years.”

“I bet. It sounds wild.”

“It wasn’t fun while it was happening, but looking back, a lot of it is funny.”

“Hindsight is 20/20, you know.”

Castiel bumps his shoulder into Dean’s. “I know.”

Dean can’t make out what he’s supposed to take that as, so he ignores it. He watches as Castiel shops, offering commentary on the quality of some the store’s generic brands. When they reach the everything section of the store, food aisles behind them, Castiel asks Dean what Sam looks like.

“Uh, he’s fucking tall. Lemme get out my phone.” He digs in his pocket and flips through his photo albums to find something that’s both decent for public eyes and shows his height compared to Sam’s. He settles on a photo he’d taken during one of their few dates, Sam smiling with a fork head up to his face and Dean with a too big smile. “You can’t really tell, but Sam’s got a few inches on me.”

Castiel nods. “He’s very attractive.”

“Don’t I know it. His shoulder to hip ratio is insane.”

“Is it?”

“Fuck yeah. He’s got the teeniest waist ever, an–”

Castiel places a hand onto Dean’s upper arm. “As much as it excites me to watch you get worked up over your husband, we are in the middle of a grocery store, Dean.”

“Right, yeah.” Dean swallows. “Sorry. That was leading into giant overshare.”

“It’s fine. I did ask what he looked like.”

Dean licks his lips. He’s totally reaching gross douchebag levels, and it sucks acknowledging that. At least Castiel doesn’t seem bothered yet. Hopefully, Dean can keep it that way. “So, uh, what nonfood stuff are you buying?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to familiarize myself with the aisles.”

“Oh.”

“We don’t have to. We can just get your stuff, and I can do it some other time.”

Dean shakes his head. “It’s fine, Cas. We can just look through the store.”

“Thank you, Dean. I enjoy your company.”

Dean bumps his shoulder against Castiel’s now. “Me, too.”

“It’s nice to know you like yourself that much.”

“Shut up! You know what I meant.”  


Castiel smiles but says no more. He pushes his cart out of the aisle, and Dean takes the lead into the next one; this is the hair product one. He skips past all the hair brushes and misplaced dyes to the ties. There’s some cute ones, and he picks a pack of ties with pre-attached bows. Sam probably won’t wear them without some begging on Dean’s part, but Dean thinks they’d look nice. He also grabs a neutral colored Goody pack so Sam has some for work. Most of his current hair ties are kind of losing their elastic. 

“You should buy him some colored plain ones, too. I assume the plain ones are for work? He could match his ponytails to his clothes." 

Dean nods before grabbing a colored pack. It has dark blue, yellow, red, green, and a lighter blue. Dean doesn’t know if they’ll match any of their ties, but Sam’ll wear them. He drops them into his basket before ushering Castiel out of the aisle. 

The next aisle is where the nicer hair dyes and shampoos are, and Castiel pulls Dean’s sleeve so he doesn’t go into it. He wants to learn what’s in them, not browse the actual products. The two of them walk for a bit until they reach the clothing section of the store, where aisles stop to instead be replaced with stands and racks. 

"Do you want to go through and learn where all the different clothes are or are you good?”

“I think I’m fine. I’m not in need of clothing.”

“Cool. So, uh. I’ve gotta…” Dean gestures with his hand. 

“You wish to purchase your underwear. I’m going to see it anyway, Dean. You have next to nothing in your basket.”

“That sounded so much sexier until you added that last sentence.”

“I’m afraid I don’t believe that this establishment would sell sexy underwear. You’re just buying everyday stuff.”

Dean scoffs. “I make everyday underwear look super sexy.”

“I’m sure Sam would agree with you.”

Dean licks his lips, wonders if he’s going too far. “So you don’t think I’m sexy enough to pull off some Hanes?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you implied it.”

Castiel tries to capture Dean’s eyes. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I simply don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Compliments on my figure are always welcome, for future reference.”

Dryly, Castiel says, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Dean makes a face and turns to find the underwear bin. He doesn’t wait for Castiel to maneuver his shopping cart. Whether he sees what Dean picks out or not, it’s weird thinking about him watching Dean pick out underwear and make sure things’ll fit. He doesn’t know if right now it’d be better to get a size up or not, and he’d rather not have Castiel see that struggle. 

He figures that he’ll get a pack of both his current size and the next one up. The black boxer briefs get dropped into his basket right as Castiel walks up. Dean smiles as Castiel stops next to him. 

“Have fun getting around the shit placed racks?”

“No. Did you find your underwear?”

Dean nods. He pulls his basket closer to his body when Castiel looks into it. “Dude!”

“I’m curious.” He blinks at Dean. “We established I’d see it anyway.”

“Yeah, but not that you’d actively _try.”_

Castiel has the grace to look chastised. _“_ I’m sorry.”

A shrug is all Dean responds with. He colors as he remembers he’s still got to pick up lube, and he feels the blush go to his ears as Castiel licks his lips. Dean tugs on the bottom of his jacket, willing his face to cool down. Silently, he follows Castiel as he continues on. 

When they finally reach the section of the store where sex and period related materials are shoved together, Dean ignores Castiel’s eyes on him. He beelines to the brand he likes: water-based and specifically for anal penetration. It gets dropped into basket, and Dean’s hand hovers over a flavored lube from the same company. He hasn’t seen that they made flavored lube before. Face on fire, Dean also dumps the cherry flavored lube on top of the rest of his groceries. Castiel, thankfully, doesn’t decide to choose now to be a smartass. He merely grins at Dean when he turns around.

“Ready to check out?”

“Mhm." 

Castiel bumps his arm against Dean’s as he takes point to the checkout lanes. Dean trails behind, keeping his eyes on the back of Castiel’s head. He watches Castiel’s hands as he places his food onto the belt, and the offer to help is waved off. Castiel’s stuff takes a while to ring up, so Dean lets himself just look at Castiel as the scanner does its thing. He’s so fucking good looking. 

Dean pulls out some cash when his items are rung up. The employee – Alice, the name tag reads – counts out his change and hands it to him. It gets stuffed into his pocket as he picks up his bag. He smiles wildly at Castiel while they walk towards the store exit.

"So, this was fun.”

“It was. Can I ask for your number?”

“Well, you just did,” teases Dean. “But, yeah. Hand me your phone.”

Castiel pulls it from his pocket and hands it to Dean. Dean puts his number in, holds the phone up to Castiel’s face, takes a picture, and sends himself a text. Castiel’s eyebrow is high as he accepts his phone back, examining the text Dean sent.

“A souvenir?”

Dean nods. “You got to see Sammy. He’ll want to see you, too.”

“Of course. I suppose it would be nice to see the person your husband spends grocery trips ogling.”

Dean’s eyes go wide before he sputters.

“You’re not subtle, Dean. So long as Sam doesn’t mind, I don’t either.”

“Uh…I’m not–”

Castiel’s smile turns kind. “If I minded, do you think I would have shopped with you? I can tell you care for Sam, and I assume you two have an arrangement the way you’ve handled talking about him. I flirted back, Dean.”

“Right.” Dean swallows. “Right. Yeah, we’ve got an arrangement.”

“Good. Because I think I like you.”

“Me, too.”

“I’m glad. I have to leave now,” he points to his bags containing milk and orange juice, “but I’ll text you?”

Dean nods. “Yeah. Talk to you later.”

Castiel grips Dean’s arm and kisses his cheek. He smiles at Dean’s flushed face as his fingers slowly slip away. Then he turns, and he pushes his cart out of the store. Castiel walks to the opposite side of the parking lot Dean camped the Impala in. 

Dean rushes to his baby to drive home.

\-------  


Dean forces a polite smile onto his face as he hears the doorbell. That’d be Kevin and Stacy. 

As soon as he’s opened the door, Dean’s pulled into a hug. He doesn’t bother to hide his distain as Stacy’s arms wrap around him; Kevin gives him an apologetic shrug. It gets no acknowledgement from Dean. When he’s released, Dean waves the couple into the house.

Sam gets up from his couch seat to let Stacy give him a hug, too, and he hides the grimace Dean knows he wants to release when Stacy follows him back as he sits. They’ve agreed to play nice because this is Kevin’s first girlfriend after Channing, but it’s proving very difficult the longer and longer the relationship carries on. 

Kevin takes the spot next to Stacy, and Dean plops himself down onto the armchair. He doesn’t bother to pull out the leg rest and kicks his socked feet onto the table. 


End file.
